Fallout: Vegas or Bust
by Naphtali's Ink
Summary: On Hiatus.
1. Chapter I: Wasteland Messiah

Chapter I: Wasteland Messiah

a/n: This is the edited chapter one. The edited chapter 2 will be on its way shortly if I feel it needs it.

The gray sky hung ominously over the Capitol Wasteland like a ten million ton concrete slab, painted with splotches of red and yellow by the setting sun. The beauty would soon give way to the blackened hell of night, and all but the bravest scavengers were scurrying back toward their hidey holes. To be exposed at night would mean almost certain death if you were an average citizen.

The last remnants of a cigarette were smoked and flicked from the incredible heights of a sat-com array. The tar stained filter fell almost majestically in a way, a few stray sparks skittering away as it hit the rocky expanse 300 feet below.

Its previous owner, a tall, panther-like red-head of twenty, dangled his legs over the edge of the ancient structure and watched the sun dip back into its own hidey hole. He often imagined it set because it could bear looking at the war ravaged landscape no longer. He of course knew that was not the case, but the picture always came to his mind nonetheless.

The moon and stars took its place, giving the poor star a welcome reprieve. The man flipped a switch on his pip-boy and Galaxy news radio came on right at the end of "I Don't Want to Set the World on Fire." The DJ came in with a static-y howl.

"AHOOOOOOO! Hello there Capitol Wasteland! It is I, Three Dog, lord and master of allllll I survey! Project purity has recently stepped up its efforts and is now transporting water to every major settlement in the wastes. If y'all see the Lone Wanderer, be sure to give him a high five, and some ammo!"

The redhead flipped the switch back off in annoyance. "Ugh. I swear," He muttered, "that man is not going to stop until EVERYBODY in this hell hole WORSHIPS me."

He lie back in the satellite dish and grimaced. High above the wasteland, he couldn't help but contemplate his identity, and indeed, even his humanity. He had done and experienced much in the past year and a half. He had done things that no ten men could have done. And he simply couldn't understand how. How had he, a nerdy, lonely teenager from an underground vault, pampered and babied all his life up until recently, survived hundreds of confrontations with everything from battle hardened raiders to twelve foot tall monster-lizards to giant deformed mutants the size of skyscrapers? Granted, had he run into a Deathclaw his first day out of the vault he would have been nothing more than a red stain on the ground. Yet here he was less than two years later, able to laugh in the face of certain death and then shoot it in the face.

Though Dylan had never been a practicing Christian (after all, who in the hell could be in this kind of world?) he had always believed in God. He had been brought up a Christian, and in his opinion, Jesus was the only true God. It unsettled him to see so many people worshipping him so obsessively. He knew in his heart that the people would never turn to God, but he certainly didn't want to encourage people to worship him in His place

_ I wonder if I slipped and fell off this fuckin tower right now if they'd finally realize I'm just another person_ he thought irritably. The attention had been flattering at first, and the titles, small. Little things such as Sentinel, Defender, and Protector. Before long, they were calling him the Vault Legend, Hero of the Wastes, and Wasteland savior. He was honored of course, but he was beginning to become uncomfortable when people started kneeling and kissing the ground where he had walked moments before. Admiration, he loved, but worship…that was a different story. The dam broke when they began calling him The Last, Best Hope for Humanity. People simply couldn't get enough of him.

He had met a man who had traveled all the way from Rivet City to Megaton to see him because he believed he could cure his four year addiction to Ultrajet. Sure enough, all it took was for him to take the tablets of fixer that Dylan had given him whenever he felt the itch, and he was cured in a week. Of course, the man had been too naïve to realize that it had been the detox chem that had helped him, not Dylan himself.

The day they began calling him the Wasteland Messiah however, was a completely different story.

On October 18th, 2278, exactly one year and one day after Dylan had left vault 101, he entered the chamber of Project Purity and received what he was sure was a death sentence in order to purge the reactor. Astonishingly, he survived the dose of nine hundred, and ninety two rads. For two weeks, he lie in the citadel's infirmary, fighting for his life, and every day, he was expected lose that fight. Elder Lyons informed him that had he received just a few more rads, he could have died at the scene. For weeks afterward, he battled sickness, throwing up blood and sometimes even passing out from pain and exhaustion. He didn't tell anybody. He didn't want the people who counted on him to worry.

After the battle at Adams Air Force Base, the sickness had grown worse. He grew pale, and lost twenty pounds, in two weeks, turning his body into barely a shadow of the lean, athletic figure it had been. When he stumbled back into the citadel, he was diagnosed with terminal stomach, head, and neck cancer from acute radiation poisoning. He had fought the harsh desert heat and braved battles with the fiercest of demons, and as he was dying, he laughed bitterly at the irony. There he was, the wasteland 'messiah,' being killed by dividing cells.

He found out later that they had already started to arrange a funeral with full brotherhood knight honors. They had all doubted he would live. Somehow, the cynical young man managed to cheat death for the 3,421st time. (At least, that was his count)

Somehow, after three and a half months of intensive treatment, not a single cancer cell remained in his body. It truly had been a miracle, and he did not doubt that it was somehow related to the change in his DNA that had occurred shortly after entering the wasteland, courtesy of Moira Brown. He gave all the credit to God, and the incredible brotherhood doctors who had treated him.

However, after surviving such a fatal amount of radiation, and a bout with stage 4 cancer to boot, there were very few people who thought of him as anything less than God come to earth again. He knew better. God didn't carry an AK-47. He did. He was a very skilled mercenary, and nothing more.

His musing was interrupted rather suddenly by the sounds of gunshots and a woman screaming in fear. He shot bolt upright, his repeater in his vicegrip. He leaned over the edge of the satellite and stared through the inky black night. He saw her blow two men off their feet with well-placed headshots, but this was quickly followed by another panicked scream when she realized that she was completely out of ammo. Another man, presumably a comrade of the other two, advanced slowly on her.

"Not so tough now, are ya lil girl?" he asked with shit-eating grin. She backed away. "Take it all off now and I might let ya live," he yelled. Dylan looked down the sights of Abraham Lincoln's legendary repeater, aimed, and pulled the trigger. A loud, explosive bang ripped apart the calm of the night sky, the muzzle flash briefly illuminating his face as the young girl and the raider looked upward and spotted him, fear in the raider's eyes, admiration and relief in the girl's. In that one hundredth of a second, a thousand emotions played out in the minds of the three people on scene. A thousand memories, expectations, hopes, and dreams rang in their ears like a holotape over a vault P.A. system. Then the man's head exploded into a misty rain of blood and brain matter, and his body dropped like a lead balloon gracelessly to the dirt.

The two actors in this particular drama exchanged glances ever so briefly, both smiling at their rescuer/rescuee before Dylan turned back around, duster blowing gently in the breeze, lit another cigarette, and descended back into the tiny room he called home.

Back inside the satellite, Dylan lie back on the cot and put his feet up. It had been a very long day of scavving and selling to various vendors, and he was exhausted. He pulled the lock tight on the door and the roof hatch, turned on his radio to Agatha's station, and let the sweet melodies lead him by the hand into blissful unawareness.

Click click. Scritch Scratch. The sound awoke Dylan from a sound sleep, his battle instincts kicked in, and he quickly grabbed his repeater. Finally, he heard a soft voice, muffled by the thick metal door between them.

"I just wanted to thank you. For saving me earlier."

He frowned ever so slightly. "Don't mention it kid". He sat up against the wall, and pulled his pack of Big Boss out of his pants pocket, struck a match, and ignited the cigarette in between his lips.

A short, yet profound quiet ensued for a moment before she broke the silence.

"You're…him. Aren't you? The messiah," she asked.

"...No. I'm not. Just a man like anybody else"

Though he couldn't see it, she smiled. "You may not be a messiah…but you are a savior" she whispered "you are too kind, too modest, Lone Wanderer".

He scowled. "Please don't call me that. My name is Rose. Dylan Rose. People call me Messiah, or Lone Wanderer and it drives me insane".

"…May I ask why?"

Dylan sighed and took another long drag on his cigarette. "I am just a man. A very lucky, and yes, skilled man, but a man nonetheless. Don't get me wrong, it's nice to be respected, but when it gets to the point where it becomes worship, it's just too much for me to handle".

"…so…you don't believe you are the second coming?" she asked.

Dylan groaned. "Absolutely not."

She laughed lightly. "You'd be the only one".

"Tell me about it" he spat. "It almost tempts me sometimes to just end it to prove once and for all that I'm just a human being. To them, and to myself".

He could almost feel her frown. "Don't do that. Don't even think like that. The wasteland needs you. Everyone from Point Lookout to the Pitt loves you!" she practically shouted.

The young man snorted. "Not everyone".

"Everyone that matters though," she said softly, her words slightly muffled through the door.

He sat on the bed silently, not really sure what to say. He took a drag on his cigarette and held it in his lungs for a moment before exhaling softly.

The silence lasted for almost two full minutes, and Dylan almost thought she had left when she spoke again. "I need some ammo. Can you possibly give me a couple clips for a 10mm pistol?"

He got up and stubbed out his cigarette in one of the many ashtrays lying around. He opened the door and threw three clips out into the hallway before quickly shutting and latching it.

"Oh come on Dylan! Don't be so anti-social, I want to see you! Don't I at least get to take a look at my rescuer?"

Dylan contemplated it for a moment. He then quickly reopened the door. "Holster your weapon," he said. She did so quickly. He stepped back, letting her enter the small chamber.

He finally got to have a good look at her. She wasn't much younger than he, maybe seventeen or eighteen. She had medium length light blond hair tied back in a ponytail, and wore a plain wanderer outfit consisting of sandals, white jeans, and a faded brown hooded jacket over a red t-shirt. She had a knapsack over her shoulder, and her only weapons were her 10mm pistol, and a pair of spiked knuckles on her hands. Her eyes were a soothing dark blue, and her face reminded him of a cherub.

"You got a name stranger?" he asked.

She smiled. "Renee. I came here from Point Lookout".

"You came all the way from there with that equipment?" he asked, "now I'm impressed"

"More or less, yeah. I'm looking for work. Tried the Brotherhood, and the Outcasts, neither seem to want new recruits. I've just been wandering for a while now".

Dylan thought for a moment. "Do you actually know how to use that pistol?"

Renee laughed. "I can handle myself alright, when I don't run out of ammo in the middle of a fight. There were five other raiders with him though, for the record before things got ugly."

He went into his trunk and pulled out a spare regulator duster. "Ever heard of the Regulators?"

She shook her head. "I've only been in the capitol for about two weeks. Most of the groups around here are all new to me."

"Their headquarters is in a farmhouse west of Canterbury Commons. Wear this duster and tell them I sent you and that you want to join. And take that raider's right index finger with you. It'll net you ten caps, and should impress them somewhat".

She smiled and grabbed the duster, taking off her coat and slipping it on. "How do I look?" she asked.

Dylan's face was blank. "Like a vagrant. Same as before".

Her smile faded. "Do you think I'm pretty?" she asked, stepping a bit closer.

Dylan stepped back. "I have a woman. She's behind a thirteen ton door and I'll never see her again. I'm not exactly looking for a lover at the moment".

She sighed. "Oh. Alright then…I guess. I guess I just thought…I don't know what I thought. Nevermind. I guess I'm just tired of being alone…my family is all dead. I've been alone for so long now I don't even remember what it's like to have one. "

Dylan's gaze softened. "You'll have a family when you get to Regulator HQ. They take care of their own. You'll never be alone again. I know…how it feels to lose everything".

She stepped forward and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you Dylan. I'm glad I got to finally meet my hero…my boyfriend wanted to be just like you. He was going to join the brotherhood".

He allowed himself to let his guard down for just a moment and hug her. Nonviolent human contact felt so good. He had to resist the urge to cry. He held her for a moment.

Then she turned to leave.

"You know Renee…you can stay the night if you want. I mean…there's only one bed, but I'll sleep on the floor. It's one in the morning. It might be better for you to travel by day".

She turned back around and Dylan could practically see the gears turning in his head. "Ok. But only if we share the bed. I don't want you sleeping on the floor".

He smiled. This girl wanted him badly. It was plain as the nose on her face. He slipped his duster, shirt, and boots off leaving him clad in only a pair of dusty brown cargo pants.

She pretended not to look, but he caught her staring at his chest out of the corner of her eye.

"I'm guessing you like what you see" he said with a smirk.

She smirked. "You're very…toned. You're not a hand to hand fighter too, are you?"

"I'm a Jack of all trades" he said. "What can I say? I didn't just wander the wastes like everyone seems to think, killing raiders and muties. I had a purpose. I trained every time I was somewhere safe, learned everything, lockpicking, hacking, hand to hand, maintenance, even cooking. I wanted to find my father. Once he died, I wanted to take down the enclave. Then, I focused on destroying the talon company, and wiped out the slavers in the Pitt. Up until recently, I've never left Megaton without purpose".

He lie down on the bed and pulled the blankets back, allowing her to get under them with him. She slid her duster off and stripped down to her pants and a thin cotton undershirt. She tried to cuddle with him, but he slid away slightly and she stopped.

"I said you could sleep with me, I didn't say you could _sleep _with me" Dylan scolded, "I already told you, I'm not in the position for a relationship".

She laughed and pulled the ponytail out of her hair, letting it fall across her shoulder. "Who said anything about a relationship?"

He smirked despite himself. "I did. Don't get me wrong, I have no qualms with sex. But I don't want to have sex with a girl that I'll never see again after tonight, especially someone as sweet as you seem to be".

"Who says we'll never see each other again?" Renee asked, "You're a regulator, I'm soon to be a regulator. I'll see you around HQ won't I?"

Dylan shook his head. "You might see me once a month tops. I keep the fingers on ice and deliver them all at once. Otherwise the profit isn't even worth the trek from Megaton. Ten caps is barely enough to buy a meal, and a shitty one at that. 1000 caps on the other hand is an entirely different story".

She looked at him with curiosity. "Dylan, how many people have you killed?"

"Let me check. My pipboy keeps track of things like that. This thing seems to have a life of its own sometimes".

He pulled up the page with his records.

"2496 as of tonight" he said casually.

"You act as if there's nothing wrong with that"

"All but one of those was someone who was a threat, either to myself, someone who was innocent, or the wasteland itself. The other was my former vault's overseer's father. After I saved his vault not once, but twice, not to mention protecting his daughter my whole life, he told me I deserved to wander the wastes alone forever. I gave him a chance. Told him to draw his weapon and shoot me. We had a duel. I was faster, and I blew his brains out before his gun was even completely out of his holster. I killed him because he was a dick. Plain and simple. I know that Amata hates me for it, and I certainly regret it, but you can't change the past, so I don't try. I try to change the future".

He reached down from the cot and unlatched his trunk. From it he pulled two bottles of wine.

"Would you like a drink?" he asked.

Renee contemplated it for a second. It had been a long day. She normally tried to stay away from all addictive substances, lest she fall victim to their power and spend what little caps she had on them, but she was worn too thin. She grabbed the bottle, popped the top, and took a sip. It was a delicious white wine. It was a light, bubbly drink and the flavor was exquisite, reminding her of fizzy soda and something more delicious than the freshest fruit she had ever eaten. Though warm, it tasted perfect.

"This is amazing! I've never had wine this good" she said, licking her lips.

Dylan nodded. "Straight from Tenpenny Tower. If the bar weren't so good there, I might have killed those bigot bastards a long time ago. But it's hard to get a good drink in the wasteland. I figure if they know how to make wine this perfect, it means they're at least good for something".

They each took another drink. Dylan grabbed a syringe out of his trunk. "Med X?" he asked.

"I don't do chems," Renee replied, "They cloud the mind and take your focus off of survival".

He chuckled. "Honey, you're with one of the best mercenaries in the wasteland, in a locked satellite over 100 feet above anything or anyone who could hurt you. Just relax, and we can float away together and forget all of our fucking misery".

She chewed at her bottom lip thoughtfully. "I don't want to become an addict".

He nodded. "I understand. But I read this recipe for a new chem a while back. As far as I know, I'm the only person in the capital wasteland who knows how to make it. It's called Fixer. It pretty much removes any trace of addiction from a person's body. I keep it around in case I run outta caps, so if you start craving, let me know and I'll give you a couple tablets".

She weighed the options. She had taken Med X before for pain from a bullet wound to her shoulder. Not only had the pain disappeared, but the high was something from a dream. So if she was sure that she couldn't get addicted, why on earth would she not?

"Alright then. I could stand to get high after all the shit that's happened these past few weeks".

She took the syringe and injected it into a vein in her wrist. He took another syringe and did the same. Moments later, every muscle in their bodies relaxed. Renee's eyes fluttered open and shut as she rode the med x train.

After about twenty minutes of utter bliss, the girl fell asleep, snuggled into Dylan's chest. Dylan reached for his cigarette pack and swore when he realized it was empty. Between his two pack a day habit, his med X addiction, and his growing Jet problem, he wondered if it was time to take some fixer himself.

"…Nah. Fuck it. At the rate I'm going, I'll die from stress far before chems".

That was his last thought before he drifted off into a quiet slumber, curled up against a woman he barely knew.


	2. Chapter II: The Regulators

A/n: I am taking a few creative liberties with one of my favorite factions, The Regulators.

First of all, in this story, The Regulators have gained many members (They are probably nearing 400, and the only reason they've yet to find a new safe house is that most of the members are always on assignments. They are now using a gang style initiation to make new officers prove their worth. Also, they are using ranks, which will be listed from highest (which Sonora Cruz is) to lowest. (These are not necessarily the true order of police ranks, but it is a loose representation). It'll be a slow chapter mostly but it's necessary to get into the thick of the plot.

Regulator heads

Commander (Sonora Cruz)

Colonel: Lucas Simms

Lieutenant Colonel (Dylan Rose)

Officer ranks

Major

Lieutenant

Sergeant

Deputy (Standard officer, lowest rank)

ALSO: This chapter is dark and gritty toward the end. There is a sexual scene that was disgusting for me to even write, involving a teenage boy. Though it is not very explicit, read at your own discretion. This chapter is rated M for Intense violence, Frequent foul language, drug/chem use, and intense, disturbing sexual themes. It is not recommended for minors, and this author claims no responsibility for any mental scarring. Thank you.

**Chapter II: The Regulators**

**April 3rd, 2279**

Renee woke to the sound of muffled gunfire. She looked around for Dylan, but he was nowhere to be seen. She bolted up from her bed and grabbed her pistol, quickly shoving the clip she had dropped the previous night into it. She tried to shake the fog of sleep from her mind and focus. The door had been unlocked. The roof hatch however, remained sealed tightly. She opened the door and took slow, deliberate steps across the cold metal staircase that led down into the base of the tower, aiming her gun every which way, searching for signs of possible intruders. She saw no differences from what she had seen upon entering the area the night before. She relaxed slightly, but kept her eyes peeled. She opened the door to the wasteland and stepped out into the brilliant sunshine, letting warmth flow into her like med x. Dylan was sitting on a tree stump, poking at a fire he had just started to get heated up. A dead mole rat lay at his feet.

"Mornin' sunshine," he said, grabbing a sharpened combat knife and beginning to skin the animal. He offered a slice of raw meat to her. "Breakfast?" he asked.

Renee wrinkled her nose in disgust. "I sincerely hope you plan on cooking that before you put it in your mouth."

He snorted. "Notice the fire genius? What do you think it's for? Certainly aint to keep warm," he said with a chuckle.

He roughly stabbed a sharpened stick through the slabs of meat and stuck it into the ground near the fire, angling it so it cooked over evenly.

She rolled her eyes. "I would think 105 would be warm enough for you".

"You think this is bad? I saw it get to be 120 degrees here in the summer last year. I had to wear my power armor to keep cool. It's a good thing those damn suits have an internal temperature regulation system or the brotherhood would be canned meat ready to go right out of the package."

She shrugged. "I'm not used to this heat. I lived where the trees were the thickest in Point Lookout, so they blocked a lot of the hottest sunlight."

He stabbed three more slabs of meat roughly onto a sharpened stick and slammed it into a crack in the dirt near the fire. "That ought to be ready soon. That's the only thing I hate about living out at the satcom towers. No fridge and no oven."

Renee sat in the dirt next to him and fanned herself with her hand. "Where on earth did you find a working fridge and oven?" she asked.

"Megaton," he replied. "I live there most of the time, unless I want to get away from people. I have everything at my shack. An oven, a fridge, two fridges in fact, a chemistry lab, a workbench, an armory, a butler, and a dog, but the Sheriff has him at the moment. Wanted to take him hunting and I've been gone for a couple months, so he's taking care of him at the moment."

She shook her head in disbelief. "You know, if you were anybody else, I'd be pulling the pepper spray out to keep the crazy away. If you really have all this stuff though, I guess it's no surprise you've been able to make it out here as long as you have.

"I've also got about 200,000 caps in my desk," he said nonchalantly.

"Tw-Two hundred th-thousand?" she said weakly "How did you get that kind of money? Furthermore, how the hell do you keep it safe?"

Dylan smirked. "Like I said, a killer robot butler with a flamethrower, plasma rifle, and buzz saw, and a vicious killer Siberian Husky who likes to sic balls."

She rolled her eyes. "Is there anything on this wasted earth you don't have access to?"

"Not too much as far as possessions go," Dylan answered truthfully. "Although I do hope to someday see TV return to the wasteland. Not likely that I'll live long enough to see such a thing though."

Renee laughed. "I really wonder what it must have been like for the people of the old world. When ninety nine percent of the population had never killed anyone, instead of the other way around, and entertainment was everywhere. They had it so fucking easy," She said with a sigh.

Dylan nodded in agreement. "Makes me think they had to be awfully damn selfish to have all that shit in their fingertips and still feel the need to be at war with one-another."

Renee nodded in agreement.

As they both sat there having an actual conversation with each other, Dylan realized how much he was beginning to value this complete stranger's company, for no reason other than the fact that she was an intelligent creature with opinions who didn't want to blow his brains out. And mostly just for the latter reason.

"You know. I hate travelling alone. It's good to finally have some company," Dylan said with a smile.

The woman next to him perked up. "If you hate being called 'The Lone Wanderer', and you hate travelling alone, why _are_ you constantly alone?"

He sighed, taking off his duster and kicking his feet out.

"I'm not _always_ alone. I do have friends. I have Butch, Cross, Fawkes; hell even Charon is fun to hang out with occasionally. It's just…I do a _lot_ of dangerous work. And even though their all highly trained warriors...well, not Butch, but he's tough in his own right…I don't know, I just don't want to risk them getting hurt. I don't have any more family. My friends are the only family I have left. Plus, having more than two of us and my dog together makes us easy to track, so none of them want to travel _together_ with me."

Renee smiled. "Well hey, you have me now."

Dylan laughed. "You'll probably be gone by the end of the week."

The woman stiffened. "Are you questioning my survival skills?"

Dylan un-shouldered Lincoln's repeater and let two rounds go whizzing past her head. A few seconds later, she heard the sound of a body falling from the tower.

She spun around, to see the corpse of a talon company merc, sans head. "You didn't notice him did you? Or his four friends that have the area surrounded?" He paused. He was really getting tired of the same old crap. Almost nothing happened anymore that he couldn't handle with relative ease. It was always the same old raiders, same old Talon Company, same old _everything._

"Alright guys. Come on out. No need to hide. Just face us fairly!" he shouted. Three young men in their late twenties, as well as a younger girl in her late teens stepped out of their various hiding spots and began firing with assault rifles and a laser rifle.

Dylan swore, and pulled Renee into cover just in time for a bullet to clip her arm instead of making a direct hit. "So much for fairly" he grumbled, fishing out a grenade and hurling it out from behind the rock. It blew and the resulting explosion took one of the mercs with it.

She was stunned. She had not noticed any one of them. Had it not been for Dylan, she could have been killed. The again she figured, had it not been for Dylan, they might not be here in the first place.

"FIGHT" he urged her, blind firing with his repeater from behind the rock. Several rounds and laser beams hit the rock, and he swore again.

"They have us pinned down. Stay here. I'll distract them, you shoot" he instructed. He holstered his repeater, then dove out from the rock and scrambled toward the satellite tower, the only other nearby cover. He sprayed several rounds from his sidearm, most missing, but a few hitting the torso of the female merc with the laser rifle. She fell to the ground, but was not killed. Her armor had absorbed most of the impact. She rose to her feet and went to give chase, but Renee ducked out just long enough to deliver a pistol round to her temple, killing her instantly, before ducking back in.

Dylan slid up to the wall like a baseball player stealing home, before taking his repeater again. Three down, two to go. They were behind cover now, getting nervous. Nervous was good, it meant a lack of focus.

"Most people let death come to them!" he taunted from cover, "Why do you bastards insist on delivering yourselves to hell day after day?" One of the mercs took the bait. The other tried to hold him down, but it was too late for him. He was out in the open, raising his gun to fire. "YOU SMUG LITTLE SHIT!" he screamed.

Dylan and Renee fired at the same time, both bullets finding a home in his skull. He fell with a soft thud to the dirt. The other Merc panicked. "Fuck this shit!" he yelled, and he ran. Dylan ran after him, firing a shot from his repeater and taking out his knee from behind. He let out an anguished scream and crumpled, trying to claw his way through the dirt and away from his assailant.

Dylan placed his boot on his back, leaned down, and slammed the butt of his rifle into his head. He then kicked the man's weapon away. He looked down on the defeated man sadly.

"Pathetic" he muttered. "You think you can run through open terrain away from two armed mercenaries, not even taking cover, and escape? How did you even get into the talon company?"

The man turned and looked up at him with pure hate radiating from every dirty look and pained movement. "Fuck you, you goody two shoes prick! I wish I could be there to watch Jabsco cut your fucking cock off!"

With this Dylan chuckled. "Didn't you get the memo Blondie? Jabsco was shot dead a month ago in his base. By me. In the face. With a railroad spike."

"LIAR" he shouted trying to swing at him, but missing entirely. He tried to stand, but was only able to get to his good knee. "My commander would never fall to a fucking child!"

Dylan slammed his rifle into the man's face again and he fell hard. Blood trickled from his eyebrow. The attack had cracked his skull.

"I didn't realize you considered an almost twenty one year old a child. Child or not, you should learn to keep your mouth shut. You'll fucking live longer," Dylan chided.

The man actually stayed silent, choosing instead to flip him off. Dylan grabbed his finger before he had a chance to retract it and bent it backward until it broke.

The merc began to whimper softly.

"Don't blame me," Dylan said "you were the one who sought out death". He raised his repeater to the man's head and without a moment's hesitation, pulled the trigger. It clicked but no bullet fired. "Huh. Look at that. Sorry, my bad, forgot to reload.

Renee could have fallen over laughing. It was just too funny. She did laugh, far louder than the situation warranted.

"Shut up damnit!" he yelled "You're ruining the moment!"

"What moment? You turning yourself into a complete ass?" she asked. Dylan glared and turned his eyes back on the injured merc.

"Listen man, I'm gonna let you go. I know, I know, I'm too fuckin kind. This rifle takes a while to reload. And I just want to eat my mole rat. So I want you to take these, and leave your armor, weapons, and all your valuables here with me to sell". He threw a filthy torn wasteland settler outfit, little more than rags, on the ground next to him. "As of today, you are a Talon company Merc no longer. I ever see you again in Talon armor; you'll die pinned to a wall by a railroad spike, just like your lover Jabsco."

The merc spat at Dylan.

"Fuck you kid, you aint getting the satisfaction, and you ain't dictatin my future" he said. He pulled his 10mm pistol from his holster. Renee was just about to fire, but he turned the gun, put it to his own head, and pulled the trigger. Dylan stepped back just in time to avoid the spray of blood and brain matter.

"Don't know why I even bother to be nice sometimes," Dylan muttered as he began stripping the dead mercs of their valuables. One by one, he cut off their right index fingers with his combat knife. He gave them to Renee.

"Here. Six fingers will give ya sixty caps to get started with. It's at least enough to buy a couple meals on, and if ya scav equipment from your kills and sell it, you'll be set in no time."

Renee nodded.

"Now…let's eat, I'm fuckin starving," he said. He grabbed the four cuts of meat and handed two to Renee. She took them and nibbled on one. It was gross, burnt in some areas, undercooked in others, but it was food and at that moment, she couldn't bring herself to care.

They ate quickly, ravenously, and then, Dylan kicked sand over the small campfire. "Shall we go?" he asked.

"Go?" Renee questioned.

"Yeah, to Regulator HQ. I wander. I won't be here much longer. And no offense, but I'm not gonna let some random wastelander stay in my tower while I'm gone. Besides, the sooner we get there, the sooner you'll have a job and a steady supply of caps," Dylan replied. He picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. "We should start moving, it's a fairly long walk" he said.

Renee was slightly put out, but in reality, she hadn't expected him to let her stay for long. After all, she was just another face to him.

"Alright" she said. "Let's get going then". She shouldered her bag as well, and the two began to walk.

Conversation was nearly nonexistent between the two as they walked, and before long, Dylan had turned on Galaxy news radio to fill the void of the silence.

"HELLO, CAPITAL WASTELAND, THIS IS THREE DOG, BOW WOW, YOUR VOICE, IN THE DARKNESS! Or at least the radiation. Got a public service announcement for you all out there! The raider gang known as The Messengers of Death has been plaguing the area around the Super Duper Mart for quite some time now. They've killed off all other raiders and civilians alike who have tried to approach, and even taken out a few Brotherhood members who traveled too close to their domain. So unless you feel like being violently ripped to shreds, raped and/or urinated on, it would be best to stay as far out of that neighborhood as possible. If you see any people wearing black bandannas and sexy jackets, STAY AWAY. They WILL hurt you. And now, here's Frank Sinatra, with BLUE MOON."

The song began to play and Dylan absentmindedly hummed along to the music as they walked.

About four and a half hours later near midday, they arrived at the Regulator farmhouse. Renee was astonished. Several people in dusters similar to Dylan's and hers were gathered around a teenage boy, punching and kicking him mercilessly as he lay defenseless on the ground, his white T shirt soaked in sweat, mud, and blood. The boy kicked out at one of them, only to have his foot grabbed and be thrown like a rag doll.

"What the fuck?" Renee shouted. "These are the Capital wasteland's lawbringers?"

Dylan laughed. "It's an initiation they recently put in place. If you can't win a fight against three other people, or at least hold your own, you aren't let in. They did it because so many people were becoming regulators and getting themselves killed because they couldn't fight. Didn't want stupid weak kids with grand ideas dying for nothing."

The kid scrambled to his feet, his face was covered in bruises and blood. The three men he had been fighting advanced on him again, but he pulled a police baton out of his pocket and snapped it open, catching one of the men in the temple with it and knocking him unconscious. He lashed out with a low kick that forced another to retreat, and then rushed him with the baton, beating him senseless. He too fell. Now, it was one on one. He went after the other deputy with his baton, but he was quick enough to avoid the attack, and kicked the baton out of the kid's hand. It clattered to the ground, and the larger man began punching and kicking the kid for all it was worth. Finally, Sonora Cruz blew her whistle. It had been two minutes. The kid was still standing, if only just.

"Congratulations, Dallas. You held your own quite well. Welcome to the regulators" she said. Dallas' eyes practically shimmered with pride as he was handed a worn regulator duster.

Dylan watched, bemused. Renee scoffed. "Barbaric" she said.

Dylan shrugged. "True, but hey, it gets the job done. There aint any more wimps joining up now. I hope you can fight."

Renee nodded. Sonora Cruz walked up to Dylan and greeted him with a friendly hug. "Ah, Lieutenant Colonel Rose, good to see you again" she said.

"Commander Cruz" he said respectfully.

"Do you bring news, or bounty?" she asked.

"Neither, but I bring a new prospect" he replied.

Commander Cruz looked over Renee with appraising eyes. "Appears strong and healthy, but can she fight?"

Renee nodded. "I can fight. But I'm generally better with small firearms than unarmed combat."

Commander Cruz nodded at her. "Well, then the typical initiation won't prove much then. Lieutenant Colonel, can you vouch for this woman's skills?"

Dylan nodded. "Show her your bounty," he said. Renee pulled out the sack of six fingers.

The commander's eyes lit up. "You've been busy recruit. I'll give you the caps for these. But before you can actually earn that duster, I have a…rather special initiation you can undertake in place of what you just saw, if you are so inclined"

Renee's eyes narrowed. "Depends, what is it?"

Commander Cruz motioned to the farmhouse. "Come inside, I'll tell you there."

Dylan, Renee, and the Commander entered the farmhouse, all grateful to be out of the wasteland heat. They sat down around a worn out old card table, fanning themselves.

Commander Cruz held up a document. "This is the location and the names. Their gang as a whole is known as the Messengers of Death. They are no ordinary raiders; their skills are on par with our own. I was going to assign Dylan and two of our Majors to this project…but if you think you can handle it, in addition to you being accepted, you would be given a pass by the rank of deputy and be welcomed in as a sergeant. This is a very dangerous assignment."

Renee nodded. "I don't think it'll be a problem. I'm in."

"Be careful," She warned. "Use teamwork. We send our regulators out in teams of three on bounties like this, so Colonel Simms will be assisting you. He'll be leaving from Megaton soon to meet you at the Super Duper Mart. These men are all very violent and dangerous. Use explosives if you can, the close quarters of the store should give you an advantage."

Dylan and Renee nodded, and readied their equipment. They grabbed a quick bite to eat, and were out the door ten minutes later, walking back into the wastes. The desert heat was brutal as they trekked back toward the Super Duper mart. They shared water out of a small canteen, but they were still becoming dehydrated.

They sat down on the twisted, rusted remains of an old car frame. Dylan flicked his silver zippo and pulled out a fresh pack of cigarettes he had scavenged from the Talon Company merc who had shot himself earlier that day. He opened it up, stuck one in between his lips, and lit it. He politely offered the pack to Renee; she of course politely declined.

The silence between them was no longer tense, but still just as present as it had been on the trek to HQ.

Dylan smoked his cigarette slowly, stopping to enjoy it, realizing it was a pack of menthols. Those were rare in the capital, as most had either been snatched up or sold a long time ago.

Renee decided to clean out her pistol and replace the old, worn out firing mechanism with a new one while she waited. Dylan tossed his cigarette butt to the side. Once she had finished her maintenance, he got up and dusted off his cargos.

"We should keep moving. Don't want to keep Lucas waiting," he said. Renee nodded, and placed her pistol back in its holster on her belt.

They walked through the ruins of Grayditch with caution. The silence was eerie. All he could hear was the wind rustling through the skeletons of buildings, and the occasional sound of pieces of rubble settling or falling to the ground. As they passed Bryan Wilks' old house, he was hit with pangs of guilt. He hadn't been to visit his little brother of sorts for quite a while. The kid was probably worried. Then again, he was settled down in Rivet City now. Dylan was fairly sure that he no longer needed him. He had plenty of friends. James Hargrave and CJ Young had become like a second family to him, and Cherry like a second mother.

Dylan casually shot a raider that had jumped out from behind a pile of rubble, wielding only a lead pipe. The bullet had gone straight through his armor into his heart, killing him instantly.

Renee finally spoke. "Killing people like that, it doesn't bother you at all? I mean, I know they're raiders, but still…" she said softly.

Dylan shook his head. "Get used to it. If you wanna be a regulator, you're gonna be doing it all the time. Look at it like keeping the wasteland safe, because really, you are. If you didn't do it, they would just be out there raping and pillaging and killing innocents. I say kill the bastards and let God sort 'em out."

Renee nodded, though she was still slightly squeamish as they walked past the man's body. It wasn't as if she had never killed anybody, far from it. She just always felt at least a small pang of guilt for it. But this man, who so many saw as an angel, seemed to have no qualms with shooting a man dead every twenty minutes. She shook the thought from her mind. They were going to a battle. She couldn't afford to feel that way. Feelings in battle could lead to hesitation, and hesitation could lead to serious injury, death, or worse, enslavement.

Another half hour passed and they made it to the hills on the outskirts of the Super Duper Mart. Lucas Simms was there to greet them, holding in his hands the leash to a savage looking Siberian Husky, with a rather peculiar case of heterochromia.

Dylan hugged Lucas briefly, before patting the dog on the head. She gave a quiet woof and wagged her tail furiously, licking his face.

"Good girl Dogmeat" Dylan exclaimed, ruffling her fur. He then turned back to Simms. "So, finally coming out of retirement huh old timer? Think you can keep up with the young'uns?"

Simms glared at him. "Watch your tongue boy" he said, though he winked. "These old bones still have a damn good bit of fighting left in 'em."

Dylan opened the packet, reading aloud from the information that Commander Cruz had given him. "They're a raider gang called the Messengers of Death. There's twenty of em, all living in the Super Duper mart. Most of them are in their mid-twenties to mid-thirties but one of them is quite a bit younger, a prospect. Cruz is leaving it up to us whether or not to leave the kid alive, but says the rest of them have to go. They've taken out brotherhood members, and seem to be well organized, so we need to be cautious in our approach. I'm thinking the Commander is right, grenades would be good here in the confined space, but be careful. Lucas, I'd appreciate it if you'd stick with Renee and watch each other's backs. I can handle myself. Unless the kid resists, I think we should try to take him alive. The report says he's estimated to be around fourteen years old."

Lucas shook his head sadly. "It's a damn shame when little kids have to stoop so low and join up with raiders."

Dylan nodded and set down a large bag he had been carrying. The sound of metal slamming together revealed it to be a bag full of weapons. "Alright, let's take turns getting some sleep. We'll get up at around midnight, arm up, and get ready to go. We'll attack at night, when they're tired. "I'll sleep for about four hours, then get up, and let you two sleep four hours. Then we'll attack!"

Lucas and Renee nodded. "Sounds like a plan" The grizzled deputy said. Dylan picked a soft patch of sand and lie down. "It's four o'clock. Wake me up at eight" That was the last thing he said before he lie down, put the blackout lenses on his sunglasses, and fell asleep.

April 3rd, 2279, 11: 56 pm

The young raider prospect bit his lip, trying to prevent tears from spilling over as his leader had his way with him. "Oh FUCK Matt, you like that don't you? Tell me you like it!" the leader yelled, smacking him. The boy tied to hold back his tears. "Ooh yeah! Oh my God Jackson, fuck me!" he moaned. He was used to this. Just pretend and it would be over sooner. Soon, he would be an actual member and he would never have to deal with this again. Or so they liked to tell him. Jackson moaned as he thrusted harder, reaching climax and pulling out. Matthew bit his lip. God how he wanted to blow the man's brains out. All this talk of proving himself to be loyal to the brothers, it was all a ruse. He could see that all they wanted him for was his feminine figure. He couldn't fight, the only thing he was useful for was fitting into small spaces to grab loot, and getting fucked because these sleaze balls couldn't get women if their lives depended on it.

They quickly clothed themselves. "When do I get my jacket?" Matthew asked.

Jackson left the room quickly and Matthew sat on his mattress, frustrated and angry. He had thought about just shooting him there and making a run for it, but he didn't have a silenced weapon. He would never make it out alive.

"Fuck it" Matthew said softly. He couldn't do this anymore. Ever since he had left home, all those years ago, he had been used for pleasure and thrown away. He knew these assholes would never give him his jacket. He would be a prospect until the day he died if he stayed, he was too small and frail and feminine for them to let him be a warrior.

'And yet I still have the biggest Johnson in the building. Guess the messengers all like it both ways. I may be skinny and have long hair, but at least I'm not working with a friggin crayon. Still…I can't do this anymore. I'm so tired of being used' he thought. He looked down at his sidearm, a Chinese pistol, the only weapon he was allowed to carry. He grabbed it off the floor and slowly raised it so that the barrel was against his temple. His finger rested on the trigger. His heart raced as he began to put a bit of pressure on it.

A bang resounded, but not from his own weapon, and in his surprise, he dropped the weapon to the floor. It went off, shot the wall, bounced and hit his lamp, sending shards of metal into his arm. "FUCK! Can't even SHOOT myself right" he yelled. More gunshots went off. He grabbed his gun back up in a panic, breath hitched in his throat. He listened to the sounds of gunfire for a full eight minutes. He couldn't move, he couldn't think.

Then, suddenly, a series of loud loud explosions shook the building. His gang was screaming, Jackson called out panicked orders to his men. He was heading back toward Matthew's room. More explosions. A hail of automatic gunfire. All the gang members were silent now, except Jackson. "Please man! There's no need to do this! You want a slave? I can give you a hot little number! He's a boy, but he knows how to fuck like a wo-"

BANG! BANG!

Jackson slammed against the door so hard it broke off the hinges, sending the man back into the room. Two bullets were embedded in his skull. A tall figure stepped into his room over Jackson's lifeless body.

He was lean and muscled, and over six feet tall. Red hair fell down to his shoulders, kept out of his eyes by a dingy white bandanna. Icy blue eyes stared into his own green ones, looking up and down his slim, half-starved figure, a whole 5'6" and 125 pounds. Matthew instantly knew who he was. Though he had never seen him in person, he knew enough from the legends to know this man. He was face to face with the enigmatic Lone Wanderer.

A/n: Things are starting to pick up, but next chapter is where the real story begins to unfold. Want the next chapter faster? Review. It gets me motivated to write more, and write it more quickly. Also, I realize I could still use some work, so if anyone that is a good beta and would be willing to give things a read over, and make suggestions about making characters more believable, things like that, I would be appreciative. Infinite Dragon pointed out on my first chapter that I was having issues with "voice" among a few other things. :). I'm always willing to learn and take constructive critisicm. Lastly, it is rare to get two chapters from me within a five day period, as sadly, I have a life. If I get a beta, it may add even more time. Me writing at a good pace generally means popping out two chapters a month, with one being more likely. So put this story on alert if you want to keep up, it doesn't stay on the main page for long with an archive as popular as Fallout. Thanks :)


	3. Chapter III: The Church of Dylan

A/n:…I've decided Dylan needs a couch…

Chapter III: The Church of Dylan

April 3rd, 2279

Matthew looked at the man with a mix of utter relief, and fear. On one hand, he had just liberated him from possibly several more years of torment at the hands of his so called brotherhood. On the other hand, the man in the regulator duster was a notorious raider killer.

His breath hitched in his throat and when Dylan tried to come closer, Matthew backed away, up against the back wall, eyes wide.

Dylan smiled gently. "I'm not gonna hurt you kid, not unless you try to hurt me or my friends. Promise."

Two more people walked into the room behind him, A tall, dark skinned man in his early fifties, and a young, angelic looking blond girl in her late teens. They both wore dusters identical to the Lone Wanderer's.

Dylan could see that the boy was scared out of his mind, and not likely going to attack him. "I'm Dylan Rose, This is Lucas, and Renee".

"You're regulators" Matthew said, finding his courage and gripping his pistol tighter.

"Yes, but we were told we didn't have to eliminate you, just the other raiders. What's your name? How old are you?"

"M-My name's Matthew. I'm sixteen" he said. Dylan had to fight the urge to drop his jaw. He had figured the boy for thirteen, fourteen at the very most. His skin was pale and soft looking, and his baby face was framed by long, shiny black hair. His button nose was curved just ever so slightly to the right. His face betrayed a hint of mistrust. Dylan just stared at him. It was a miracle he had survived this long in a raider gang. Though he doubted it was without some mental scars, if not physical.

"Do you have anywhere you can go kid?" Dylan asked. Matthew was slowly beginning to recover from the shock, getting his wits back and speaking with a little bit more confidence.

"No. I have no family out here, at least not anymore. It's a long story, but I'm from the other side of the country. No way in hell I'm ever getting back there. Only reason I joined this fucking gang was for protection…not that I ever got any. I'm actually really glad you killed them. You did what I've wanted to for months."

Matthew leaned back against the wall and fished a pack of cigarettes and fancy silver lighter out of his bag in the corner. He sparked the lighter. The flames flickered; illuminating his high cheekbones and causing the light to dance off his eyes like fireflies playing tag. He touched the flame to the end of the Big Boss for a split second, then shut the lighter and exhaled a cloud of acrid smoke.

Dylan instinctively reached into his pocket for his own cigarettes and lighter and stuck one in his mouth. He flicked his lighter, and frowned when it would not ignite. He tried two more times, but it still wouldn't light.

"Hey Matt, you mind?" he asked. Matthew hesitated for a moment before tossing him his prized lighter. Dylan caught it and inspected it. It was engraved, and looked to be made of pure silver. There was a carving of a poker chip on it. On the back it read in tiny letters "The Tops Casino grand re-opening, October 31st, 2274, New Vegas, Nevada.

Dylan admired the fine craftsmanship for a moment before lighting his cigarette and handing it back to him. "Vegas huh? That where you're from?" he asked, taking a deep drag.

Matthew nodded. "That's my home. The Mojave Wasteland, hell of a place. I got that for being one of the first people to win a jackpot there. I won 5,000 caps and left all but a hundred to my mom the night I left for the Capital."

Dylan nodded. "Hey Lucas, there any beds open in the common house?"

Simms shook his head. "Fraid not boy. Completely full, some people are hot-bedding."

Dylan frowned. "Figures. Last time I checked, Rivet city was full on beds too, and I wouldn't wish Big Town on my worst enemy. Well, ok, maybe I would, but not on most people."

Matthew shrugged. "I'll be fine. I can just stay here. Lived here for six months, may as well make it home". He got up and scavenged the combat shotgun from Jackson's corpse, loading it up with ammo from the shelf, strapping two drums to his belt, and putting a few more in his bag. "I got a good gun, ammo, and food. I'm set".

Dylan had to resist the urge to say that a combat shotgun would probably blow the boy right off his feet, but he shook his head instead. "You seem like an ok kid. At least let me make you dinner tonight. Then you can head back here if you want to. My house is right over in Megaton".

Matthew stiffened at this. 'Could this guy just be another pervert?' he wondered.

"No thanks" he said, "I'll be alright".

Dylan rolled his eyes. "Come on, I insist".

"I said fuck off!" Matthew snapped. "Just leave me be! I appreciate your help, but I'm not exactly the type to fuck a guy just because he did something nice for me!"

Dylan recoiled, completely taken aback. "Wait, whoa man, you're misunderstanding. I'm completely straight! Besides, you're a little young for me! I'm just trying to be nice, you seemed like you could use a real friend."

Matthew bit his lip. "You promise you won't try any pervy shit?" he asked.

Dylan rolled his eyes. "No thanks bro, anal isn't really my thing."

Matthew grabbed his bag and shotgun. "Alright. I guess it can't hurt. Seriously though. Don't try anything. Please."

Dylan just snorted. Renee coughed. "Well, if you two are all done with that, I'd like to get back to HQ and let the Commander know our mission is complete."

Dylan nodded. "I'll meet you there tomorrow. I'm going back to my house and getting some actual rest."

"I gotta get back to guard duty," Lucas said.

"We'll see you Renee, keep a hand on your gun," Dylan said.

Renee waved goodbye, and cut off the fingers of the mercs she had taken down before heading out the door and into the night.

Lucas and Dylan left Matthew for a moment to let him pack his few possessions that weren't already in his bag. He grabbed everything, and shed his prospect's jacket. He grabbed the jacket off Jackson's corpse. "I've earned this, you bastard" he muttered angrily. He looked at the patch on the back. It showed a grim reaper, and read 'Messengers of Death-Capital Wasteland Chapter President'. He slipped it on over his shredded long sleeve shirt, and then joined up with the regulators.

"Alright, let's get the hell outta here," he exclaimed. The two men nodded, and they headed for the door.

Out in the cool midnight breeze, the wastes were nearly silent. Dylan could hear a gunfight going on a few miles away, but other than that, silence was their companion as the three of them made their way back to Megaton.

_I wonder if that's Renee_ Dylan thought idly.

They continued walking, but the closer they came to Megaton, the more Lucas seemed to slow down. Finally, they were within sight of the gate, and he was walking at a snail's pace.

"Something wrong?" Dylan asked.

Lucas stopped. "…You're not gonna be happy when we get inside."

Dylan stopped too. "Why?" he asked cautiously, turning to face him.

Lucas shifted his weight. "Well…We got a new group of nutjobs that moved into town about two months ago…just put on your shades. And if I were you, I'd cover your hair too."

Dylan scoffed impatiently. "What the hell are you talking about Simms?"

"Boy…there aint to easy way to say this. Maybe it'd be better for you to see it for yourself."

Dylan pushed open the gate, and frowned. Almost right away he saw it; a new building. It was an eyesore of a shack with a green neon sign reading "First church of the Lone Wanderer."

He deadpanned. "This has to be some kind of sick fucking practical joke."

He walked further into the town square, so distracted that he didn't even notice his Geiger counter start twitching when he walked through the irradiated water near the now inert bomb. He stared at the sign. To Lucas, it looked as though he was trying to blow the building to smithereens with his mind.

"Fraid not kid…Megaton attracts cults like a carcass attracts bloatflies.

"BEHOOOOLLLLD! THE MESSIAH MY CHILDREN!"

Lucas groaned. "I swear to God Dan…"

Dylan slowly turned around to see a group comprised of what looked entirely…like nutjobs. There were about fifteen of them, all gawking at him. Some kneeled down and crossed themselves, others prayed and still some flopped on the ground like worms.

"…Oh hell no" Dylan said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Who the hell are you people?"

The man called Dan, seemed to be their leader. He was a fifty something man with clean cut gray hair and watery blue eyes. He shed a few tears. Dylan gasped as he grabbed onto his duster. He could smell alcohol, specifically vodka on the old man's breath. "WE ARE YOUR CHILDREN, GREAT MESSIAH; we are the humble church of the Lone Wanderer".

Matthew stepped back quite a ways away from the crowd, stunned at the spectacle.

"Get the fuck off me you creepy old gasbag!" Dylan yelled.

"PLEASEEE! WE MUST BASK IN YOUR RADIANCE FOR JUST A SHORT WHILE LONGER!" Dan shouted.

Dylan clenched his teeth. "I said get off. NOW!" he screamed.

"Lord! What have I done to displease you!" Dan cried, "Have I sinned? Why won't you LOVE ME?"

Dylan broke the man's hold on him with a swift pull, using his momentum to toss him into the bomb; he fell in a heap in the irradiated water and screamed. Dylan grabbed Dogmeat's leash from Simms and ran toward his shack at breakneck speed. Matthew followed uncertainly, but Dylan got there first, ducked inside and slammed the door so hard the walls rattled.

"FUCKING HELL!" he screamed, "A CHURCH?"

Dogmeat whined in response, nuzzling up to his master. Dylan patted her head, trying to calm down.

Matthew winced, hearing his scream from outside. He quietly opened the door to find the Lone Wanderer sitting in a chair in the corner, seething.

"…That was…different" he said quietly.

"That was the final straw is what that was. I can't take this shit anymore," Dylan said. "First day back in town and this happens. I can't do this. I can't do this one more day. Why do I bother helping people when I KNOW it's gonna bite me in the ass?" he shouted.

Dogmeat whined in protest, jumping into his lap and licking his cheek.

"See girl, even you practically worship me"

Matthew had no idea what to say or do. He pulled out his pack of cigarettes and offered it to Dylan. He took a deep breath, and took one from the pack, taking his lighter when it was offered.

"Thanks" he said irritably, lighting the smoke and handing the lighter back. Once again his eyes praised the sleek design of the lighter. And that was when a light bulb lit up in his brain.

"Hey Matt" he began, calming down a bit. "What's Vegas like?"

Mattew lit his own cigarette, shed his jacket, and sat down on the floor. "It's a lot like here in some ways. The area around the city is toast, a complete desert. But the city itself is very much alive. The areas surrounding the strip are a complete ghetto, but the strip itself was rebuilt. It was a lot like it was in the old world a few years ago. The casinos reopened, they have clean water, and the place is pretty much still sin city."

Dylan nodded. He patted Dogmeat's head and the dog jumped down onto the floor.

He got up and grabbed some mac and cheese out of the fridge and began cooking, taking sips from a bottle of whiskey while he did. "Why are you here if you lived in a place like that?" he asked.

Matthew looked away. "I really don't want to talk about it."

Dylan took a drag off his cigarette and tried again. "Did you like it there?"

Matthew slowly nodded. "It was tough. I lived in Freeside, not exactly heaven. Still safer than here though. I miss home…and I miss my mom."

_Jackpot_ Dylan thought. "Wanna go back there?" he asked.

Matthew looked at him like he had just proposed to him. "What kind of question is that? Of course I do. But I would never make it."

"You made it here, didn't you?" he asked.

Matthew took a hit off his cigarette and sighed. "I thought I never would…sometimes I wish I never had."

Dylan looked him over fully for the first time since the attack, and saw the blood seeping from a tear in his long sleeve shirt near his right shoulder. "You're injured" he pointed out.

"Shrapnel" Matthew said. "I shot my lamp on accident" he said.

Dylan tossed him a bottle of purified water from the fridge, as well as a stimpak. "There. You should clean that out before it gets infected."

Matthew nodded. "…Thanks" he said hesitantly.

_What's his deal _Matthew thought, _this is…so odd. I don't know this guy. Why on earth is he being so nice?_

He slowly picked the glass and metal out of his arm, wincing as he did so. Realizing that he would have to take his shirt off to fully clean the wound, he cleared his throat and asked "…Is there anywhere I can change in private?"

Dylan tried to resist the urge to chuckle at the boy's shyness, and nodded. "Up the stairs to the right. You can use my room."

Matthew nodded again. "Thanks…for everything" he said.

"Don't mention it kid" Dylan replied, finishing his cooking and dishing out the macaroni. "Food's done whenever you're ready."

Matthew walked up the rusty metal stairwell and went into the small bedroom he supposed belonged to Dylan, shutting the door behind him. It was a quaint little room, dingy, but better kept than the rest of the shack. Papers were stacked neatly on his desk, as well as a tattered hardcover book. He picked it up and looked at the cover.

"The Wasteland Survival Guide, by Moira Brown, researched and co-authored by Dylan Rose"

"Wow. How about that" he said, putting it back on the desk. Matthew pulled off his shirt and tossed it on the dingy mattress, wincing as he flushed the wound with the bottle of water, taking a few drinks when he was done. He injected the stimpak into his wrist and sighed in relief as the stinging began to subside.

"Well, there goes my last good shirt," he said, pulling it back on in spite of the tears and bloodstains.

He got up from the chair he had been sitting in and was walking back to the door when his boot kicked something, causing it to skitter into the wall. He bent down and picked up an empty bottle of whiskey. Nearby, he noticed, in a trash can, were several used syringes, a few canisters of jet, a pill bottle labeled "Mentats" and a few empty cigarette packs. It certainly didn't look like the room of a 'messiah'.

"Good Lord, what a junkie" he muttered. Matthew had, in spite of being in a raider gang, generally shied away from chems. He smoked cigarettes, but other than drinking before Jackson would come into his room every few nights, had kept his distance from harder substances, like mentats, jet, and recreational use of med-x.

He shook his head and walked back downstairs, grabbing his bowl of macaroni and a spoon and eating while Dylan adjusted his pip boy radio back onto Galaxy news.

"Breaking news folks! A little birdie just told me that Mr. 101 just dealt a crippling blow to the Messengers of Death, wiping them out and saving a young boy. ALL HAIL 10-"

Dylan shut the radio off. "Figures. Jeez, doesn't he ever have anyone else to talk about?"

Matthew nodded. "I always used to listen to him when I was in my room alone. He really does have a one track mind. I kinda wondered about that."

"He's become just as bad as the rest of these idiots around here. I really just need to get out of this place. Out of the capital. Preferably somewhere with lights, girls, and all the whiskey I can drink." He hinted.

"Well…Vegas has all those things and more. But it's no more peaceful," Matthew replied.

"Nowhere is really peaceful kid. I just want a chance to start over without being idolized."

Matthew nodded. "Nobody is anything in Vegas unless they're a pimp, a chem kingpin, or in the Military. Trust me…if you want to be treated like an average schmuck, that's the place."

Dylan decided now was the time. He figured if he threw out the hook now, the kid just might bite down.

"What if I take you back there?" he asked.

Matthew stared at him as if he had just proclaimed he could turn into a deathclaw at will.

'_Maybe this guy really is a damn pervert'_ he thought. _Then again…he did let me change in private, he fed me, and he hasn't even asked for anything in return. He does good things out of the kindness of his heart. I mean, people call him teacher, protector, even Messiah. I've never heard of him hurting innocents. He's always just helped people, even when it cost him everything…_

"Why would you want to do that for me? We don't know each other." He reasoned.

Dylan chuckled. "You wanna go back. I wanna go there. There's no way in hell I can stay here. I'll end up slaughtering those crazy bastards. It makes perfect sense. You can direct me. I can protect you. It's a win-win."

"…I'll think about it" Matthew said.

Dylan nodded. "That's all I ask. You can sleep on the couch if ya want" he said, pointing to a ratty old couch with stuffing sticking out of the cushions.

Matthew nodded, too tired to argue and curled up on the couch. He tried to fight the wave of sleep coming over him, but it was futile. He was a little worried, but reassured himself that the Lone Wanderer would never do anything to harm him. He was a kid, young and seemingly defenseless. The kind of person he knew the mysterious redhead couldn't help but want to protect. He yawned and was out a few minutes later.

Dylan looked at the boy and smiled a wolfish grin. He ascended the stairs quietly. "Hook, line and sinker. Looks like I'm outta here," he muttered.

The last thing Dylan saw as he fell asleep was a vision of neon lights, and a gigantic tower consuming the skyline.

A/n: Review, and tell me what you think, if there's anything I could do better, or should fix. Next up, chapter 4 :) Special thanks to Flying Phoenix Fire for beta-ing this chapter, and helping me so much with figuring out storyline. And just for being a great friend in general. You rock XD. And a thank you to Infinite Dragon and Cally 777 for your reviews and constructive crit.


	4. Chapter IV: First Steps

Chapter IV: First steps.

Light spilled through the holes in Dylan's sheet metal wall, illuminating his bedroom with the soft orange glow of the rising sun. His eyes slowly opened, and he was at once bombarded by a billion thoughts. Today would hopefully be the day. The day to settle everything up and skip town with a kid he had barely known a few hours. His life was strange, but he supposed he could no longer consider it boring. He grabbed a large duffel bag and began to pack up his most important essentials. Several packs of cigarettes, and a bunch of stimpaks, Jet and Med-X were crammed into it first, followed by several bottles of water and whiskey and a bunch of nonperishable food items. He also managed to cram in several boxes of 44 shells and clips of ammo for his SMG. Finally, he grabbed his change satchel, which held about a thousand caps. He put it in and zipped up the bag.

"I guess anything else I need I'll have to find out there in the big wide world," he said. As he looked around his room, he was a little sad to be leaving everything behind. His mind was made up however, and he quickly shed any traces of doubt. "This is for the better. I need a chance to really start over and find some hint of normalcy somewhere," he mumbled.

He quickly dressed in his trademark regulator outfit, tied back his hair, and proceeded downstairs. "Rise and shine kiddo," he said, throwing another empty duffel bag onto Matthew's chest. He awoke with a start and had his pistol halfway out of his holster before he realized where he was.

"You scared the shit outta me!" he whined.

"Sorry" he said. "My bad. But get up and get around, I wanna leave before everyone's fully awake and that damn church asks me to preach a freakin sermon."

Matthew did a double take. "Wait, we're leaving today? Just like that?"

Dylan nodded. "It's now or never. I'm getting outta here today. We can go to Vegas, or I can go elsewhere, but I'm getting off the east coast for good. The only people I actually want to love and admire me don't, and all the wrong ones do. I'm done." he said bitterly.

Matthew pinched the bridge of his nose. "Have you even made any preparations?" he asked.

Dylan nodded. "I packed up some food and weapons and stuff. I can give you a spare gun or two. I got us some money, basically everything we'll need."

The younger boy sighed. "I don't like this…I thought I'd have time to wrap my mind around all this." Still, he took the duffle bag and began packing his few things. Dylan gave him some spare ammo for his shotgun, and Matthew was set.

Dylan took one last look around his home. "Wadsworth. Keep the place secure. I don't know if I'll be back."

"Of course sir. I'll be sure to tidy up while you're away," the robot exclaimed in his cheery faux British voice.

Dylan rolled his eyes and grabbed Dogmeat's leash. "You do that."

He opened the door and quickly locked it behind them. They crouched and ducked as they ran to the gate, where Lucas was keeping watch.

"Lucas…I'm leaving. Don't know when, or if I'll be back…If I'm not back by '88, My house, and all my belongings go to Bryan Wilks of Rivet City unless I send a message saying otherwise."

Simms nodded. "Where you headed to boy?" he asked

Dylan paused for a moment before shaking his head. "It's better that word doesn't get around where I'm going. You understand man. I can't take it anymore, I need to get away…sorry man."

He looked down at Dogmeat, who panted lovingly and nudged up against him. He started getting a little choked up. He had to leave. He had to. But could he really leave his best friend? Dogmeat was already four years old...what if he never saw him again? He remembered all the adventures they'd had together. All the times when he'd been near freezing to death, his very life saved by the warmth of his constant companion. He swallowed the lump in his throat. It was better that he never saw Dogmeat again, and she live out the rest of her life in relative safety and happiness than to risk losing her to the harsh unknown of the American wastelands. For all he knew, they were far more dangerous than DC. It was a risk Dylan wasn't willing to take.

Slowly, painfully, he moved the leash from his hand to Lucas'. "Will you please take good care of her?" he asked.

Lucas looked the man in the eyes, and could see a very rare spark of vulnerability in him, one that nobody had seen for nearly a year. The wastelands had turned Dylan Rose into a hardened warrior, but they had not robbed him of every shred of humanity. In that moment, he knew he may never see the man again. The young man who had become his fellow regulator and close friend.

Lucas Simms nodded and placed his hand on Dylan's shoulder. "You'll always have a place in Megaton son. You saved this town. We owe you that much."

As Dylan began to turn, Dogmeat whined and tried to rip the leash away from Simms.

Dylan grit his teeth. "Dogmeat...stay."

His companion whined even harder, digging into the ground to escape.

Dylan turned. "BAD DOGMEAT! STAY DAMNIT!" he screamed.

People whirled around to look at the scene in surprise and Dylan clenched his fist.

Dogmeat put her head down in her paws and lie down, apparently giving up. This sight hit Dylan like a bat to the face. He knelt down next to his friend and scooped her into his arms. "Hey buddy. I'm sorry. You're a good dog...I love you. I'm gonna miss you. But I can't let you get hurt...I'll try to be back someday...I just need time." He held the dog for a moment before letting go. Dogmeat looked at him as if to say "Go on. I understand, I love you too."

Dylan nodded briefly before opening the gates and stepping out into the wastes. The last sight the people of Megaton got of their beloved hero was his ragged duster flapping gently in the breeze.

Their first stop on their journey was Regulator HQ, where he collected his portion of the bounty for the job. He left Matthew on the hill, preferring that he not be mistakenly attacked by one of his brothers in arms. He said his goodbyes to his fellow regulators, including Renee, who seemed very sad to watch him go.

This is for the best. I think Dylan thought, as he and Matthew disappeared into the wastes.

They walked until about 6 pm without incident other than duo of raiders who were easily dispatched. Matthew hadn't even needed to pull his weapon; Dylan's repeater had made short work of them.

They made camp for the night near the edge of the capital wasteland, throwing a tent together haphazardly and throwing sleeping bags inside. Dylan got a fire going and sat next to Matthew in the dirt. Silence was their only companion for a long while; neither of them really seemed to know what to say to the other.

Matthew cleared his throat and lit up a cigarette. Dylan dug a box of sugar bombs out of his bag and began munching on the dry cereal. It was sticky, and very stale, but it was food, and neither was about to complain. He offered the box to Matthew, who took it gratefully. They each washed it down with a bottle of purified water. Dylan shook a cigarette out of his pack and Matthew wordlessly handed him his lighter. Once his cigarette was lit, and he was happily puffing away, Dylan returned it. The next three hours were spent with them just lounging around their campsite. Conversation was tense and minimal.

While Matthew didn't necessarily dislike the Lone Wanderer, he also wasn't entirely sure he could trust him. However, he didn't really know what else to do. He certainly didn't want to wait around to die at that damned supermarket, scavenging food and living completely alone. However, he couldn't help but shiver while comparing the difference in their size. Dylan was very tall, and while he was very lithe and agile looking, he was also very toned, and he guessed he had at least fifty or sixty pounds on him. Matthew however, was fairly short, incredibly skinny and somewhat malnourished, with little muscle on his body. He knew if Dylan decided to turn on him, for any reason whatsoever, he wouldn't have a chance in hell.

"…We should sleep in shifts. Probably be best if we slept about five hours each. Any more than that, and we'll lose daylight, and one of us will be worn out," Dylan suggested.

Matthew nodded. "…Alright. Sounds like a good plan…you wanna go first or second?"

Dylan stood up, flicked his cigarette butt to the ground, and shrugged. "Up to you. I couldn't care less."

Matthew bit his bottom lip nervously. "I'll take first watch".

Dylan nodded wordlessly. "Wake me if you need me, don't be afraid to ask for help if you can't handle something."

Matthew rolled his eyes. He knew Dylan was just being nice, but he couldn't help but feel like once again, he was being courted around the wasteland by someone who thought he was incapable of anything on his own. Then again, he reasoned, it was definitely a trade up from being the Messengers' whipping boy, amongst other things.

"Kay. Sure." Matthew replied, lighting up another cigarette and poking in the dirt with a stick. He kept his shotgun propped up against his leg, watching for any signs of danger. He was met with nothing but silence and boredom.

"Tch. Better than the alternative I suppose" he muttered, clutching his shotgun tightly.

The wind whistled through the rocks and hollow, scorched husks of trees. They were about five miles west of Girdershade, making excellent time. Somehow, they had done nearly two days' worth of traveling in one. Of course, Dylan had been in a hurry since they had left, demanding they walk the whole day without a single break. Matthew groaned. His feet still ached from the blisters he'd gotten from his boots rubbing his ankles through his threadbare socks.

"Fuck. I need some new boots" he mumbled. He could hear gunshots in the distance, but they were several miles away, and as the time passed, if anything, they seemed to be growing more distant still, becoming barely audible over the course of twenty minutes, before fading out completely.

He stubbed his cigarette out on the ground, and pulled a book out of his bag, the only one he owned; a worn, leather-bound King James bible. He flipped it open to a random page, and laughed darkly at the first verse he came across. Micah 7:13: Notwithstanding the land shall be desolate because of them that dwell therein, for the fruit of their doings.

'Sounds about right,' Matthew thought. He continued reading for some time, Dylan had shot up about twenty minutes before, and was completely smacked out of his head in their tent. Matthew was nearly asleep reading when he heard a tin can kicked nearby. He sprang to his feet in an instant, readying his shotgun. "W-Who's there?" he called. He was answered with a report of automatic gunfire. A burst of 5.56 ammo danced around him, and he was barely able to avoid them. He fired a shotgun blast in that direction, and was hit with heavy recoil.

"Shit" he muttered. It was the first time the boy had actually had to use the weapon, and the kick startled him. It was way stronger than the Chinese pistol he had used while in the Messengers of Death. His shot was answered with several more reports of gunfire, and Matthew had to dive away behind the tent. 'Shit, Dylan must really be out bad to not be waking up' he thought.

Finally, his enemies stepped out from their cover to see if they had hit him. Matthew ducked his head out and blasted another couple shots, hitting one of the men in the chest and blowing him off his feet. There were still two more to go.

Matthew's heart thudded in his chest like a drum. 'I gotta get away from the tent before Dylan gets shot' he thought, and he ducked out, sprinting toward the boulders they had come from behind.

It wasn't a smart move. Right as he slid behind it, he was blindsided with a baseball bat to the face. He shouted in pain and fell to the dirt, clutching his nose, which was broken and pouring blood. His shotgun had flown from his grip and landed a good eight feet away.

The raider grabbed ahold of the boy and held him by the arms. "Looks like we found you after all you baby. The boss says you gotta come back with us. It don't do to have the merchandise out wanderin."

Matthew struggled against his grip. "Let me go shitstain! You can FUCK yourself, I'm NEVER going back with you creeps!" he yelled, throwing his elbows every which way, to no avail. He was helpless in the man's iron grip.

"Oh baby, don't swear. I hate it when that pretty little mouth of yours gets dirty," the man teased.

Matthew threw his head backward and head butted the man in the jaw. Using the moment of surprise to his advantage, Matthew whirled around and caught the man in the face with a right hook. The man stumbled a bit, but stayed on his feet. "You're gonna pay for that bitch!" he yelled, grabbing him roughly by the neck and throwing him to the ground. He kicked him several times, before pulling him back to his feet, still holding his arms.

"I think we need to remind the meat what his purpose is, and how to do what the FUCK he's told without fightin," he yelled.

The two other raiders who were still alive approached him slowly, sizing the boy up. They smiled. "Yeah Rob! Let's strip 'im down!" one of the men yelled.

"Let's take this sweet thing slow Rock, he looks fragile" the other one said with a grin.

"Now doncha go screamin' sweet thing" the Rock said, ripping off Matthew's vest, and then cutting his shirt off with a combat knife.

"LET ME GO YOU SICK FUCKS! DYLAN! HELP ME!" he screamed, still throwing his elbows. The raiders laughed, and the one who had been stripping him down punched him in the face, sending a blinding, white hot pain searing through his skull. He whimpered, and the men become even more animalistic.

"That's right baby, whimper for us" the violent one growled, unbuttoning Matthew's jeans. "Dylannn," Matthew whimpered, tears streaming down his cheeks, his face twisted by fear and pain.

"Who's Dylan sweet thing? Yer new sugar daddy? You really are a dirty whore."

BOOM! The man's head exploded and he dropped to the dirt in a second. They yelped. Matthew's captor loosened his grip enough for him to wrench his arm from his grip, and nail him with a fist to the nuts. He grabbed his shotgun. One of them raised his pistol, but Matthew was quicker. He fired back at him, catching him in the chest and blowing the man off his feet. He ran to Dylan.

Dylan's hair was all mussed up, He was shirtless, and wore only his cargos. He held his smoking repeater on the men. A cigarette dangled precariously from his lips. "Ahm Dylan" he garbled, taking a drag and dropping the cigarette from his lips. It hit the dirt, and the men finally reacted.

"Fuck off man! This little angel's ours!" Rob shouted.

Dylan blew his brains out with a single shot. "Relax man!" The raider called Rock said. "I-I'm goin." He said, holding up his hands in surrender.

Dylan grinned. "I don't think so. You assholes fucked up my nod." He raised his gun as he started to run, and shot him twice in the back, killing him.

Matthew sank to his knees and started bawling. Dylan put his hand on the kid's shoulder. "It's ok kid, you're safe now." The younger boy grabbed him and buried his face into his chest. Dylan patted his back awkwardly.

"I-I was so scared." Matthew said.

"It's ok kid. It's all ok now. Now hold on, this is gonna hurt really bad, but I gotta do it." Dylan said gently. Matthew nodded. A moment later, he yelped in pain as Dylan set his nose back in the right position.

Why don't you go inside and clean up your face," he said, handing him a bottle of water and a stimpak. Matthew nodded, grabbed the stuff, and hurried inside the tent, where he broke down and cried all over again. It took him a good half hour to calm down enough to clean off his face and inject the healing chem.

He sat against the wall of the tent and lit up a cigarette to calm his nerves. "If this is how the first steps of our little journey are, I wanna go back to the damn super-duper mart," he muttered.

Dylan came into the tent a little while later and sat down next to him. "...Mind telling me what that shit was all about?" he asked.

Matthew shook his head. "It's a long story…and not one I'm ready to tell," he said.

Dylan shrugged. "Why don't you get some sleep kid? I'll keep watch."

Matthew nodded hesitantly. "O…Ok" he said, curling up under a worn blanket. Dylan reloaded his repeater and stepped out of the tent.

"…He really is a good guy after all," Matthew whispered. As he drifted off slowly to sleep, he couldn't seem to shake the Lone Wanderer from his mind. And he was surprised to find that that didn't bother him at all.

**A/N: I'm sorry guys, I know this chapter is short, and may not be quite up to snuff with the others, but I've been rather swamped lately. Also, this chapter kicked my ass with writer's block. It's hard for me to write filler chapters, but I felt this was a necessary one, so is it filler? I guess that's up to you guys to decide. Please review, and stay tuned for chapter 5. Put me on alert, and tell your fallout loving friends XD.**


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